I swear I could faintly hear the collective “aw” of humanity as I checked my Facebook news feed and learned that Ann B. Davis, better known as Alice from The Brady Bunch, had died.
Though I had grown up watching The Brady Bunch like millions of others, thanks to the magical gift of syndication, the sad news didn’t conjure up childhood memories. Instead, my mind immediately brought me back to 3:30 A.M. on any given night between March and December 2005. That was when my first-born would awaken for her middle-of-the-night feeding, and I often passed the time catching up on some golden oldie boob tube. It just so happened that my daughter’s sleep schedule coincided with the airing of The Brady Bunch on Nick at Night, and I would be lying if I didn’t say I came to actually look forward to my nocturnal trips back to the early 1970’s. In fact, I usually got annoyed if she happened to wake up a little later than usual, and I had to watch Hunterinstead. Continue reading “Step Off, Carol Brady: What Alice the Housekeeper Taught Me About Parenting”→
It’s four minutes to six. We’re sitting at a blinking yellow stoplight, waiting to make a left turn to get to baseball practice. I’m watching the steady stream of oncoming traffic, feeling new muscles tense at the thought of running behind, coming off the heels of piano. If I could just get them there, I can go home and enjoy some solitary moments while making dinner.
There is bickering coming from the backseat. By most respects, they’re still small people; their voices should be small. But they aren’t. They’re big, and relentless, and grating. Those voices fight for the attention I should be paying to the road. Why are they doing this? Why are they continuing to do this after I have repeatedly asked them to stop? They clearly have no idea.
They have no idea that while they’re bickering about Grace not sharing her lollipop with Michael, I’m fumbling in my purse for the pair of socks my son needs to wear with his cleats…socks he doesn’t even realize he needs. And cleats he needed to be reminded to bring.
They have no idea that while Grace was practicing piano, I was sitting in my car checking calendars and scheduling our lives.
They have no idea that while they were having an after-school snack and neglecting my “x amount of minutes until we leave” warnings, I was readying piano books and baseball gear. Like that pair of socks.
They have no idea that while shuttling them home from school and being blinded by the sun, I realized I left my sunglasses on the field as I tried to video-record Michael’s outdoor May ceremony earlier that day. And in my haste to get to the ceremony on time, I had neglected to put on sunscreen, resulting in a rosy pink sunburn on my shoulders.
They have no idea that the reason I was leaving at the last minute to get to the May ceremony was because I was trying to finish a freelance job I picked up for extra money. Extra money my husband and I hope to use to take the family to Disney World.
They have no idea that I lost precious working time this morning when I went up to school for an event Grace’s class was having, only to find out it had been rescheduled for two days later…and Grace had simply neglected to inform me of the change.
They have no idea that every morning when I check my schedule, most of it is directly related to them. And now I’m sitting here, trying to make a left turn in rush hour traffic, and I’m the only one concerned that we are going to be late for one of their activities. Right now, all they seem to care about is hating each other, ignoring my pleas for silence, and that damned lollipop. They have zero appreciation for anything I have done for them today.
Then I see it. A small opening in traffic. If I can squeeze through and make this turn, we might just get to practice on time. But can I make it? Those cars are coming awfully fast. But the sooner I get there, the sooner I can hand them over to someone else. And I can have time to myself. I think I can make it…
…But if I don’t make it, time to myself may be all I have left. And when I check my schedule every morning, I might only be able to wish all of it could be directly related to them.
In an instant, getting to practice on time doesn’t seem to matter. And neither does the fact that they’re still arguing over a lollipop instead of marveling at the sacrifices I make for them everyday. Because I still get to make sacrifices for them. There is no way in hell I am going to let the last thing I ever hear from them be a pointless fight or the last thing I feel for them be extreme annoyance.
So I let the light turn red. I let the clock tick past six. And they still have no idea.
This archived post has been on my mind lately. Maybe it is the promise of warmer weather. Maybe it is the recent articles I have read about whether or not parents should try to manufacture magic for their children. Maybe I have just been feeling more intensely the constant taunt that the childhoods of my children are as impossible to grasp hold of as one of those willy water snake toys you could always find near the cash register at K•B Toys. Regardless of of what brought this post back to the surface, I took it as a sign to breathe a bit of new life into it…
A few months ago I wrote about my plan to dethrone the Rainbow Loom and offered multiple suggestions for new, cost-free, eco-friendly fads. Little did I know I needn’t spend all that creative energy trying to end the trend of jewelry made from glorified orthodontic rubber bands. I had unknowingly already set that wrecking ball into motion with the simple act of purchasing the Rainbow Loom.
I often tell my children, “worry about yourself,” meaning as long as they are making the right choices for themselves, they need to stop sticking their nose in the decisions of others. Most recently, this played out when my daughter decided to tattle on her brother, whom she had deemed to be rewarding himself with an extra helping of Girl Scout cookies without clearance from me. But she clearly needed to mind her own business, because what she didn’t realize was that he never had the first helping of cookies, and I had indeed granted him the Continue reading “What I Learned From Science This Week: Worry About Yourself”→
I am really excited to have Maggie Singleton guest posting today for the second time on this blog. (You can read her first guest post about being married to an enginerd here.) Maggie has a serious talent for finding the extraordinary in the ordinary, and writing about it so sincerely and in such a Continue reading “I Am A Different Mom Now”→
Happy Valentine’s Day! Here is a little something I wrote last year for the holiday of love:
I just spent a mind-numbing half hour helping my son sign eighteen valentine cards for his classmates. Even he was getting bored, evident by his increasingly lax standards of how to make the letters in his name: “This is a different way to make a ‘C,’ Mom.” Looks good to me, buddy. No one is going to pay much attention to your valentine anyway since mom here went the cheap-o route this year and got the ones that don’t come with any Continue reading “Hallmark, Schmallmark. I Got Your REAL Valentines Right Here.”→
From the time she was born, I have had moments of feeling like I don’t know how to be a good mother to my daughter. Those moments seem to be happening more and more often these days.
The irony of the situation is not lost on me: that she is so much like me, yet at times I seem incapable of parenting her in a way that doesn’t end up with frustration and tears across the board. I should know her better. I should know myself better. Continue reading “The Secret to Being a Good Mother: Cake and Tiger Bites”→
Time for another recycled post! This one is courtesy of January 2011. Enjoy!
When I was teaching, I used to tell my students there was no such thing as a stupid question. Let’s be honest. There are stupid questions. But I could never say that to my students, lest I get an angry phone call from some parent about how I had forever damaged the delicate psyche of her daughter, who obviously Continue reading “The Archive is Alive: Even Stupid Has a Purpose”→
This is it, I thought to myself. I just had this feeling the moment was upon me. But I never would have guessed Arnold Schwarzenegger was going to be the impetus for the conversation.
On the television screen was a warehouse full of mall Santas in various costumed states, running an underground knockoff toy ring. Jim Belushi was trying to con Schwarzenegger, the desperately gift-less father, into buying a cheap replica of Turbo Man for his son.
Are You Finished Yet? 